


What the Future Holds

by misshoneywell



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, promptsinpanem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:18:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshoneywell/pseuds/misshoneywell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta Mellark has one final chance to convince Katniss Everdeen that he is worthy of her attentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Future Holds

“Just talk to her,” his friends buzzed in his ear, annoying and persistent like the gnats that hovered closely to the bakery door during the peak of summer.

“C’mon Peeta! How can she say no to you?” Garvey Talp asked derisively, exchanging a smirk with the butcher’s son seated next to him. Garvey was easily one of Peeta’s least favorite people in their circle of obligatory Merchant friends, with an opinion that he respected almost less than the Capitol escort that arrived every year for the Reapings.

And that was saying something.

Peeta pressed his lips together while Delly looked at him from across the table, sympathy written clearly on her face. “Leave him alone,” she scolded the rest of the table. “You’re embarrassing him!”

Garvey just laughed and elbowed him harder than was necessary, and Peeta resisted the urge to lay him out flat, feeling guilty a moment later because that was not like him.

He’d been thinking, and hearing, that quite a bit as of late.

The closer that it had come to the last days of school, when he would no longer get to see her every day, the more his mood had snowballed into a blackened state of disarray.

When he burned his hand on the hellishly hot brick oven at the bakery and released a stream of steady, filthy curses, his gentle father was shocked.

That’s not like you, Peeta.

When he forgot his arithmetic homework on an especially pensive, dejected morning and snapped at the concerned questioning from his aging teacher— well, frail Mrs. Ternigen was appalled.

That’s not like you, Peeta.

When Delly, the nicest girl in school and one of his dearest friends, reached over to break off half of the cookie that he had packed in his lunch (and almost always shared with her, anyway) he had shot her a glare so fierce that tears had welled in her guileless blue eyes.

That’s not like you, Peeta.

Those were only a few of the incidents in the past couple of miserable and panicked weeks, when reality had finally begun to set in, and Peeta started to come to terms with the fact that he had let his entire life go by without once speaking to Katniss Everdeen.

And what made matters worse? Basically everyone, everyone, knew how he felt about Katniss.

Everyone except for her.

It was his own fault, really. Peeta had never been especially crafty or sly in his attempts to hide the fact that, for her, he was a complete goner. It was a regular occurrence for his friends to have to repeat themselves while Katniss was in his eyesight, those few precious moments in class when she was lost in her own thoughts, unaware. When he felt safe to stare and stare and stareand drink her in completely, before her hunter’s eyes would snap back into focus.

Peeta had literally run into a wall in an attempt to prolong a few extra moments to look at her as she disappeared around a hallway corner.

He was that consumed by her.

When he finally took over the majority of the bakery’s frosting work from his father, Peeta had searched through a botany book that generations of Mellark’s used for design reference before finally stumbling upon Sagittaria—the katniss plant. He spent hours perfecting the arrow shaped leaves and three-petaled flowers, hoping that one day, when her beloved little sister stopped to press her nose to the bakery window, she would recognize her namesake. Maybe that would be the day that she would come inside and speak to him.

Oh, how he dreamt of the katniss flower.

His father was bemused by his infatuation, his brothers teased him mercilessly, and his mother…well, she was his mother. He had stopped paying any mind to her opinions somewhere between shouldering his first set off 100-pound sacks of flour and his final Reaping a few months back.

And his friends? They didn’t understand it.

Oh, not why he liked her so much. They understood that well enough. Her name was featured on slag heap wish lists with increasing regularity over the years— her sleek black braid, haunting eyes and mysterious air of unattainability all but guaranteed that.

But Peeta was a catch, by all of District 12’s standards. A well-to-do Merchant boy, affable and well –liked by everyone who knew him, Peeta had no shortage of more suitable, female admirers.

He wasn’t oblivious to their attentions— just completely uninterested. The most emotion that he spared towards those unrequited crushes was a sense of guilt and responsibility in how the Merchant girls treated Katniss; the catty way they spoke of her, snickering behind smooth fingers, blaming her for the way Peeta would politely pull his hand away from their grasp, or how he shied away from glossy, pampered lips.

No one could understand why he didn’t just approach Katniss Everdeen and declare his intentions. He was handsome, charming and eager to lend a hand to anyone that needed it. And for someone like Katniss (perfect to him, but a lowly Seam girl to most) to possibly reject the attention of a boy like Peeta Mellark was absolutely unthinkable.

“Peeta,” Delly was saying, breaking him from his thoughts. “It’s time to go to class.” His other friends were shaking their heads at him, no doubt exasperated at the way he had completely tuned them out for the duration of their very last lunch period.

That’s not like you, Peeta.

Peeta stood up slowly, a sense of dread enveloping him. This was it; this was the last class with Katniss Everdeen.

This was his last chance to talk to her, to convince her that he was worthy of her attentions.

“I’ll meet you there,” he told Delly, ignoring her concerned look. Peeta felt bad for brushing her off, but he also needed the added time it took to walk the longer route to class. He needed to build up the courage to tell Katniss how he felt. “Need to get my assignment from my locker,” he added, not lying.

Delly rolled her eyes in understanding as he walked away. Old Mrs. Ternigen had passed away a few days ago –which had caused Peeta to feel guiltier than ever about snapping at her- and in her place was a fairly clueless substitute who also happened to be new to District 12. The overly enthusiastic teacher had actually assigned a reflection essay due on their last day of school, to everyone’s annoyed dismay.

The essay topic was What My Future Holds, and he had never been more depressed while writing it. It was actually part of what had bolstered his determination to finally speak to Katniss— he just couldn’t spend the rest of his life living with the regret of not even trying.

As he rounded the corner leading to his locker, he was so intently lost in thought that he was especially caught off-guard by the small shape that suddenly hurtled into him with a startled oof.

Oh, God.

It was her.

His mouth opened and shut uselessly, rendered speechless as her grey eyes stared up at him, her small, calloused hands pressed to his chest as she unconsciously steadied herself against his body. He felt as if he were in a very beautiful but strange dream.

The dream was quickly shattered when she ripped away from him violently, revealing a crumpled paper that had fluttered to the ground.

He reached down to pick it up for her, an automatic impulse. She let out a noise of distress and snatched it out of his hand, her mouth pressed in a line. She glared at him a moment before turning away to walk swiftly towards their classroom.

He stared after her, bewildered and more than a little hurt.

Katniss Everdeen clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

\-----------------------------------

Katniss Everdeen was hopelessly in love with Peeta Mellark, and nobody knew—no one except for the unsuspecting trees that had fallen victim to the sharp end of her paring knife, branded and embedded with PM + KE and Katniss Mellark deep within the supple meat of their trunks. Or, perhaps her sister Prim, who mentioned in passing that Katniss talks in her sleep, a little smile playing on her rosebud lips.

Peeta Mellark was an example of male perfection, and every time she looked at his blonde hair, softly golden like nothing she had ever seen, she dreamt of kissing the curling crown of his hair. He was clever and talented, his nimble fingers making impressive sketches in art class even in Lower School. His eyes were a stunning blue, much like the lake in which her father taught her to swim, but more importantly, they were kind.

If the baker’s son had just been beautiful, or clever, or talented, maybe he wouldn’t have affected her half so much. But Peeta was nice, helping elderly Seam and Merchant folk alike, or sneaking small children cookies when he thought no one was looking, and always quick to smile. He was the kindest boy she had ever seen, and his hands, so strong, completely capable of throwing a 200 pound wrestler onto his back during a match, were unbelievably gentle as he piped delicate designs onto pastry surfaces in the bakery window.

Everything about him got under her skin, and she just didn’t know what to do with that.

Katniss wasn’t good with people; didn’t know how talk to them. She never had, really. Her fledgling childhood friendliness had flown away with the mockingjays after her father had died and her mother checked out completely. She stopped trusting people, never really believed in love and had absolutely zero interest in boys.

Until Peeta. Until a random act of kindness changed her entire view on boys and men and love and hope until he had consumed her thoughts completely. 

She never thanked him for the bread he had given her that day. God, she had wanted to—had thought about it a hundred times as she skirted by him in the hallways or sat beside him in class, or caught sight of him across the Town Square.

She just couldn’t do it. He was the friendliest boy in town, but he had never spoken to her a day in his life, wouldn’t even meet her eyes, and there had to be a reason for that.

So, she pined from afar, writing his name in a loop on every surface she came across, but she did not speak to Peeta Mellark; the boy who would not give her the time of day, with one life-changing exception.

Today was the last day of school, and as she walked down the hallway at a steady pace, she had no thoughts of last minute confessions to the baker’s son. Her crumpled, final piece of homework was in her hand, an essay on What My Future Holds that the substitute had idiotically assigned.

Katniss had still taken the assignment very seriously. Her father had been passionate about Katniss’ education, and though she would rather be in the forest, she had stuck it out at school until the very end, giving her all to even the most irrelevant of assignments.

She had struggled with this essay, as it was almost cruel by nature. What does any Seam kid’s future hold? Dank mines, cold winters and gnawing bellies. But that’s not what Katniss chose to focus on, no. She wrote of hope and feathery dandelions and freedom, Peeta Mellark unconsciously inspiring her pencil with every stroke.

So, it was no shock that when it was all said and done, she had written “Katniss Mellark” all over the assignment. It was juvenile and shameful, but it happened often enough now to no longer surprise her.

The trees could attest to that.

No, what was frustrating was that her pencil, one that she and Prim shared at home, was practically a nub by now and no longer housed an eraser. She also had no spare paper to rewrite the essay, the sheets always stingily doled out to students per assignment.

So, that was how she found herself hustling towards the last class of the day, hoping to borrow an eraser from the clueless substitute to obliterate all proof that Katniss Everdeen was an absolute fool for Peeta Mellark.

Oof.

She smacked into a hard, solid surface and almost fell over, reaching up with grasping hands to right herself, barely noticing the essay that fluttered to the ground. She looked up in annoyance, her features smoothing out in shock as she met a pair of startled blue-eyes.

Oh, God.

It was him.

He stared at her with a blank, unreadable expression before glancing down at her hands pressing against his chest.

She felt herself breaking out into a mortified flush, and yanked away before the situation turned any more awkward. She found that his silence was almost as bad as her hands groping his body.

It was only when he reached down to pick up the essay for her that Katniss fully panicked, reaching out and snatching it from his hands in an ungrateful manner.

What if he saw? What if he saw Katniss Mellark written all over the paper? 

She grimaced and turned away, doing the only thing she knew to do— avoid a bad situation.

It was only after she entered the classroom that she realized that once again, she hadn’t thanked Peeta Mellark.

Beyond caring about proprietary, she slipped up to the teacher’s desk and grabbed a spare eraser, furiously swiping it across her paper. The substitute watched her violent motions with widened eyes, but said nothing as Katniss then slapped the paper down in front of her and walked back to her desk.

She stared down at her hands when Peeta walked in a moment later, but didn’t miss the flush of his cheeks or the suspiciously wet sheen to his eyes, causing confusion to well inside of her.

She stiffened as he lowered his solid, stocky frame into the desk next to her, and cursed the way the alphabet dictated their seating arrangement.

He had to think she was a complete lunatic. 

She chanced a glance around the room, and saw quite a few tow-headed Merchants staring at her and then back at Peeta. What in the world? How could they already know what happened?

“Alright, class!” the substitute trilled in excitement. “I’m passing out the roll now- no, don’t groan, children. Don’t you want credit for being here on your very last day of school?”

Katniss took the sheet of paper that was passed to her and signed her name distractedly, watching as Garvey Talp stared at Peeta and made what looked suspiciously like a head jerk in her direction. She passed the roll to the next person and sat back in her chair, praying for the day to end quickly. 

She busied herself with her fingertips as the substitute collected the class roll and began to cheerfully call out names.

Libby Adderson!

Dante Cobb!

Katniss spared a look over and did a double-take at the frank, direct gaze of Peeta Mellark. Her breath caught in her throat as they stared at one another.

Debby Fangle!

She briefly registered that her name was passed over, but she was powerless to look away from the boy next to her. Katniss watched in fascination as his perfectly smooth lips parted, his eyes intense as they held her own in his gaze. He was about to speak to her. Peeta Mellark was looking at her, and he was talking to her for the first time in their entire life.

Katniss Mellark!

Wait. Wait.

Peeta’s eyes widened, and the gasps and nervous tittering in the room echoed throughout the initial silence.

“Katniss Mellark?” called the substitute again, this time with slightly less enthusiasm and dawning realization lacing her tone.

Katniss was going to die. She felt a thousand deaths upon her as she realized what she had done. Again. 

Essay be damned. School be damned. She shot up from her seat and made her way down the aisle, hell bent on escape, numbly processing the whispers and excited chatter.

She had made it through the door, down the hallway and out into the sunlight when she felt a firm grasp on her upper arm.

She was afraid to turn around.

“Katniss,” came the voice she had dreamt of speaking her name since she was twelve years old.

It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.

“Please, look at me,” Peeta said lowly, his voice impossibly gentle. “Please.”

She inhaled sharply, but slowly turned around.

His face was a mask of bewildered hope, and there was a determined glint in his eyes that sent a thrill down Katniss’ spine.

“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to tell you this for thirteen years, Katniss,” he said softly, moving forward to cup her face with slightly trembling hands. “Will you listen to what I have to say?”

She nodded numbly, her lips parting as he spoke the words she’d longed to hear but never, not even in Katniss’ wildest dreams, imagined that he would actually say.

When it was her turn for a whispered confession, Peeta pressed his forehead against hers, silencing the words of love and gratitude with a soft kiss.

And suddenly, Katniss knew what the future held.


End file.
